


So that's an average day for you then?

by atimi (bertee)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Competition, M/M, On Set, Schmoop, Season/Series 04, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-17
Updated: 2009-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/atimi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared and Jensen find a way to fill their spare time on set. Everyone else places bets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So that's an average day for you then?

**0-0**

Jensen was secretly an Eskimo.

Of course, he denied it when Jared came right out and asked him but that was not enough to sway Jared's firm and unwavering belief in his Eskimosity. There was just too much incriminating evidence.

First off, he had some strange and deep-seated need to be wrapped in multiple layers of clothing and/or Jared. No matter what the temperature was at night and no matter whether Jared himself was lying on top of the covers while his sweat glands played God and tried to recreate the Flood, Jensen would snuggle up next to him and try to insert himself underneath his body so he could have a Jared blanket all of his own. The experience was a lot like playing Jenga in reverse and he figured that there had to be something genetically programmed into Jensen which made him want to be a directionally-challenged Jenga piece in his sleep. Something like a mysterious, heat-seeking Eskimo heritage.

This belief was further compounded by Jensen's morning behavior. From the hours of 11am to 3am, he could successfully pass as a beer-drinking, football-watching, 'let's consume half a cow in one sitting' Texan but when he got out of bed, he was invariably in full-on Eskimo mode and this morning was no different.

"G'mung."

Already dressed, showered and ready to go, Jared watched from his seat on the kitchen counter as Jensen inched his way out of the lounge and towards the holy coffee maker. (Jensen had once asked if they could christen it 'Castiel' but Jared had pointed out that Dean Winchester would then have been dragged out of hell by a coffee maker. Acknowledging his logic, Jensen had dubbed it 'Heathcliff' instead.)

"Good morning to you too."

Still wrapped from head to toe in their comforter, Jensen evidently had issues with his peripheral vision and rotated his whole body to locate Jared. Grunting in greeting, R2-Jen2 then rotated back around and continued in pursuit of his mission objective.

Sensing another chance to test out his 'Jensen is a secret Eskimo' theory, Jared slid off the counter to his feet and in two swift strides stood between Jensen and Heathcliff.

Just as the Eskimos had forty different words for snow, Jensen had forty different words for 'Why the hell are you impeding my process of coffee consumption?'

Today's word was "Mnngh."

(By 'word', Jared really meant 'random consonants mushed together' but after three weeks of Jared coffee-blocking him, Jensen had yet to come up with the same combination twice, indicating there may possibly have been some method to his non-verbal madness.)

Forgetting to move out of the way again, Jared looked down to see Jensen staring at him in utter dismay, clearly stuck on the question of why his boyfriend would be cruel and inhumane enough to deny him caffeine.

With a pang of guilt, Jared kissed him on the forehead with the apology, "Sorry, Jen."

Jensen made a brief happy noise at the kiss but then barreled past Jared as soon as the opening was visible.

Jared thought it was nice to know where he stood in Jensen's scale of affection.

Opting to have mercy, he moved back to the counter and helped himself to a breakfast banana while Jensen was too busy caffeinating himself to make fun of the way he looked while eating it. (He'd learned from experience that it was impossible to consume a banana in a way that didn't make Jensen laugh. Phallic fruits and a dirty-minded partner were always a recipe for mockery.) A peaceful silence reigned for the next few minutes as Jared ate his third breakfast and Jensen got one step closer to functioning in society.

Seeing that it was now about the time that Clif usually arrived to pick them up, Jared dropped the banana skin in the trash and set about making Jensen company-appropriate.

"Uh, Jen?"

Snuggled up in the comforter, Jensen looked over at him with the little smile of perfect happiness that only followed sex or coffee. "What?"

"You know you can't leave the house like that, right?"

Jensen's protective hold on the comforter tightened. "Why not?"

Jared paused for a moment to see whether Jensen was serious. He apparently was, and Jared sighed, stating the obvious, "Because you're wearing bedding, dude. 'Bedding' as in 'belongs on a bed'. If it was for you to wear, they've have called it 'Jensening' or something."

"I am wearing clothes underneath this, y'know. I just like some extra warmth in the morning." He smirked, mouth barely visible over the cocoon of the comforter. "Not all of us are as hot-blooded as you."

"Hot-blooded, huh?" Waggling his eyebrows, Jared moved closer, bracketing Jensen against the counter with his arms as he teased, "I'll show you hot-blooded."

Jensen opened his mouth to protest but Jared's tongue was inside it before any words were out of it. Squeezing the comforter in what he guessed was the general vicinity of Jensen's hips, he licked inside his mouth, tasting the sharp flavor of black coffee and the lingering tang of mouthwash from earlier in the morning. Movement impeded by the bedding, Jensen couldn't do anything other than kiss him back, tilting his head to allow Jared to move nearer and close the distance between their bodies, or rather, Jared's body and Jensen's comforter.

Because sex on a workday morning was never a good idea, no matter how much caffeine they'd had, Jared reluctantly pulled back, seeing Jensen's lips looking even pinker against the pale blue of the comforter. He inadvertently licked his own lips at the sight, saying with a grin, "Since when did I get turned on by you looking like a big blue burrito?" He played with the edges of the comforter around Jensen's head. "I mean, some stuff I'd understand, like if you were dressed as a cowboy, or giving me a lap dance, or wearing women's panties, or..." He tilted his head. "Or all of the above. But a blanket burrito?"

Jensen was still stuck on his earlier suggestions and repeated, "Women's panties? Dude, you need to spend way less time with Chad."

"Panties are out then?" Jared asked sadly.

Jensen dropped his head. "You're an idiot."

"I'm not the one dressed like a bed," Jared pointed out, not inaccurately. "You're-"

_"At the Copa! Copacabana!"_

They both let out a breath, whatever was left of the moment dissolving under the noise of Jared's ringtone.

_"The hottest bar North of Havana!"_

"Manilow? Really? _Really_?" Jensen asked in disbelief, shuffling away from Jared who was hunting in his pockets for his cell. "You need to change your fucking ringtone."

Locating his phone, Jared checked the caller ID as he said absently, "Can't. Got a bet with Chad on who could last longer." He looked up with a wicked grin. "He's got _Mandy_."

He turned away to answer the phone before Jensen had even finished rolling his eyes. "Hey, Clif."

Wandering out of the kitchen, he tucked the phone against his shoulder so that he had both hands free to pat the dogs who came bounding over to him. After listening to Clif's long and apologetic explanation about traffic, snow, and road-hogging mooses (meese?), Jared assured him that he and Jensen would survive being picked up five minutes later than normal before hanging up and shepherding the dogs into the kitchen to inform Jensen that he could remain a happy burrito for a few extra minutes.

That was when it started.

Jensen was sitting on the center island when he walked in, getting closer to losing the blanket but currently fixated on a different issue. Apparently he'd absorbed all the coffee he could by drinking it and was now trying to get the caffeine into his system through his fingertips if the coffee beans he was playing with were anything to go by. Pausing in the doorway, Jared watched as Jensen, who was still not firing on all cylinders, ran his thumb over the smooth surface of a coffee bean and then lobbed it across the room, sinking it easily into one of the useless jugs that his mother insisted on giving him every Christmas.

Unaware of his presence, Jensen did a subtle fist pump of victory.

Jared was lost.

"Lucky shot," he claimed loudly, grinning when Jensen turned round to look at him.

"Oh yeah?" Jensen lined up another coffee bean, spurred to wakefulness by the prospect of competition. "Watch and learn."

Jared's scoff died in his throat as Jensen landed two more beans in quick succession before shooting him a cocky grin and remaining infuriatingly silent.

Letting the subtext of 'It's on, bitch' go unsaid, Jared stepped up to the plate and the bag of coffee beans, and snagged a bean of his own. He lined it up carefully, took a deep breath, let it fly... and watched it bounce onto the floor to the sound of Jensen's victory cackle.

He glared. "Quit laughing. First one to five."

"No, thanks. I'd like not to die of old age waiting for you to throw coffee beans into a fuck-ugly jug."

"Hey!" Jared decided to be offended on principle. "My mom bought that jug."

"Yeah, well, your mom gave birth to you," he returned with a teasing smile. "Didn't stop you from being fuck-ugly too."

The force of Jared's punch to Jensen's shoulder was substantially reduced by the padding of the comforter. Settling next to him, he muttered, "Sorry that I don't look like a girl like some people around here."

"Aww, don't put yourself down," Jensen said with feigned sympathy, hand coming up to play with Jared's hair. "You look loads like a girl."

Jared smirked as a thought occurred to him. "If we both look like girls, does that make us lesbians?"

"I always wanted to be a lesbian," Jensen mused with a disturbing amount of sincerity.

"Yeah, but you'd be one of those forty-year-old lesbians in pantsuits," Jared explained easily. "I'd be one of the hot blonde girls who have naked pillow fights in their dorms."

"For a gay guy, you've thought way too much about lesbian porn."

Jared shrugged. "I just really like pillow fights."

Jensen's laugh was loud and genuine. He nudged Jared with his shoulder, repeating his earlier belief, "Such a girl." Before Jared could protest, he tossed another coffee bean into the pot (making the current score 4-0) and asked, "Who was on the phone? If it was your mom, I didn't mean what I said about you being fuck-ugly. She does not need to come hunt me down for talking shit about her baby."

"Psht. My mom would probably hunt _me_ down and tell me to stop looking ugly in front of the nice boy I live with."

"Ha." Jensen grinned widely. "'Nice boy'? I'm gonna remember that." Remembering something else instead, he prompted, "Who was calling?"

"Clif. Something about a moose problem." He licked experimentally at a coffee bean before catching Jensen's expectant gaze. "Oh. He'll be here in like two minutes. Which is just enough time for me to get more beans in the jug than you."

Finally discarding the comforter now that he had something else to distract him, Jensen gestured towards the jug. "Surprise me."

With the gauntlet thrown down, Jared began his careful preparations for the task. After setting himself up in the same position as Jensen, he selected suitable beans based on their size, weight and aesthetic appeal and lined up his throw with care.

Jensen gave an obnoxious yawn. "Today, Paddy."

"Shush." He wrinkled his nose. "And don't call me Paddy. I'm not a leprechaun."

Jensen sniggered. "You'd make an awesome leprechaun."

"Shut up." To demonstrate his prowess even in the face of adversity, he let the first bean fly, whooping in triumph when it landed in the jug. "Oh, hell yeah!"

"First to five, right?"

Jared nodded. With annoying ease, Jensen dropped his fifth bean into the jug and smirked at Jared. "Game over. Sorry, dude."

Not bothering to point out how incredibly un-sorry Jensen was, Jared opened his mouth to suggest a rematch when the rumble of an engine sounded from outside. Oblivious to Jared's unfulfilled competitive urges, Jensen jumped down from the island and grabbed his bag and some cookies for the road before joining the dogs at the door. "Clif's here. Let's go, man."

The sight of Jensen waiting with Harley and Sadie reinforced Jared's opinion of himself of the alpha male of the household, complete with a dog and human posse. He was like Danny from Grease, only way cooler because he would date Jensen without making him dress in Spandex and take up smoking.

Although when he thought about it, the Spandex idea had potential...

"Jay!"

Snapping out of his thoughts of Spandexed Jensen, he blinked. "Huh?"

From the dirty smirk on his lips, Jensen was now a mind-reader. "Whatever you're thinking about, save it for the bedroom and get your ass in gear. I'd like to get paid this month."

A wicked smile spread across Jared's face. "We could always-"

"No." Jensen was in stern mode and Jared didn't like it. "I need at least three more coffees before you start in on prostitution jokes." Stern mode didn't last long as he offered with a grin, "Since I'm a way better shot than you, how about a rematch?" Hand on the doorknob, he smirked. "Race you to the car?"

**1-0**

Apparently Jensen hadn't expected him to actually race him to the car and so looked understandably surprised when Jared dropped everything and dashed past him like there were Hellhounds on his trail.

Harley and Sadie had seen a job vacancy and had chased after their owner with all the enthusiasm of real Hellhounds.

Wrapped in his huge coat (and thus reinforcing Jared's "ESKIMO!!!" theory), Jensen jogged up behind him, cookies still clutched in his grip. "Nice work, Flash."

Jared couldn't help his inbuilt mechanism of 'Finish That Themetune' and did in fact finish that themetune. "Ah-aaah!"

Not for the first time, Jensen shot him a look of restrained patience. "You done?"

Scuffing his sneakered feet on the ground, Jared murmured, "Yes..."

"Awesome." Flashing him a cocky grin, Jensen shuffled past him to get in the waiting SUV, instructing over his shoulder, "You can go lock up."

The excitement of Jared's win faded at the memory that neither of them had remembered to lock the house.

"Dammit."

However, like Jello in a strainer, Jared's excitement could not be contained and as he ran back to the house, he yelled happily, "One all, bitch!"

**1-1**

"We should totally do this all day."

Looking over at him from his chair, Jared saw Jensen crack an eye open at his remark, only to get a playful cuff to the side of his head from Jeannie, who chided, "I'm supposed to be coloring your complexion, not your eyeballs, Jensen."

Eyes closed, Jensen flailed his arm in Jared's direction with the whiny complaint, "But he was talking..."

"Yeah, he's Jared, honey. He does that."

"Ha." Having his hair artfully mussed, Jared gloated, "Hear that, Jen? I can talk now."

"Your momma must be so proud," Jensen returned sarcastically, earning a laugh from Jeannie.

"Be nice to your boy," she reprimanded teasingly. "It's not his fault he's simple."

"Hey!" Jared sat up in indignation, mouth half full of candy. "I'm smart, dude!"

The declaration of intelligence was muffled by the wad of rainbow colored candy and Jensen nodded sympathetically. "Uh-huh. Vewy smrt."

"Screw you, Mr 'Squeezability is so a word'."

Jensen pouted until Jeannie physically pushed his mouth back into its usual shape. "Squeezability _is_ so a word. My pillow has squeezability. Your ass has squeezability. See, you can even use it in a sentence."

"Whatever you say, dude." He munched down two more strips of candy, ruminated briefly on the fact that he looked like he had two gay-pride tentacles hanging out of his mouth, and then brought his mind back to more suitable topics. "Anyway, as I was saying before you started being a pain in the ass to work with-"

Jensen's squeak of protest was stifled by a foundation sponge over his mouth.

Jared chuckled and continued, "The competition thing. We should do it all day."

Gaining permission to talk, Jensen said doubtfully, "I dunno, Jay. I don't think I wanna spend all day with you being an uber-competitive freak."

"You chicken, Jenny?" Jared taunted. "You scared that I'm going to kick your pretty little ass?"

Jensen scoffed. "Oh please. You're the one who's going to be a whiny bitch when you lose."

Jared beamed. "Is that a yes?"

"No," he stated, getting pinned firmly back against the chair by Jeannie. "No, it's not a yes. We are not spending a whole day racing to cars and throwing coffee beans."

"Obviously." Spinning round in his chair, Jared explained, "That'd be boring. We'd switch it up. Like the Olympics but with less lycra. Well, less lycra on me anyway." He didn't know why he was so fixated on imagining Jensen in stretchy fabrics today, but he was kind of enjoying it.

"The Olympics?" Jensen chuckled. "Dude, work is exhausting enough without running laps on breaks."

"It doesn't need to be laps," Jared suggested helpfully. "That's like the actual Olympics."

"As opposed to the Special Olympics? Hate to break it to you, but I don't think candy dependency counts as a disability."

After swiveling again on the chair, Jared propped his feet on the makeup table and contemplated aloud, "I so should've fucked you this morning. You're never this snarky when you've gotten laid."

Across the room Jeannie laughed and Jared grinned smugly over Jensen's offended protest that was more for Jeannie's benefit than Jared's, "That- He doesn't fuck me. I am definitely the fucker in this relationship."

Jared sniggered. "If you say so, fucker."

Jensen glowered. "Fuckee."

The intensity of his glower was lessened somewhat when Jeannie ruffled his hair and made a noise usually reserved for baby pandas. "Aww..." She patted him on the head and went back to camouflaging freckles. "Don't worry, honey. Everyone knows Jared's on top when it comes to you two."

Jared almost felt bad when Jensen looked up forlornly. " _Everyone_?"

"There's nothing wrong with it," Jeannie said helpfully but Jensen just scowled more.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want the whole set knowing I take it up the ass from Jared."

Manually unwrinkling Jensen's forehead, she continued painting on foundation. "If it helps, I think a lot of people here would like to take it up the ass from Jared."

Part intrigued, part appalled, Jared sat up and dropped his feet back to the floor, asking curiously, "Really?"

"Don't answer that," Jensen interrupted with a smirk. "He's gonna start charging me for sex if he thinks he's that popular."

Now considering a career of prostitution (and coming to the conclusion that he'd be down with it if Jensen was his only client), Jared decided to spare his boyfriend from the chore of paying him to fuck him senseless and changed the subject. "Hey, Jeannie, since Jensen's not an option right now, you wanna give me something else to do?"

Jensen raised his eyebrows. "Something else to do? What am I, your Sudoku?"

"I wish," he replied with surprising vehemence. "Nah, you're way easier than Sudoku."

"Wow. If only every morning could start with you calling me a slut."

Grinning, Jared said with exaggerated sweetness, "What can I say? You're my slutty little Sudoku."

Behind Jensen, Jeannie laughed, glancing over at Jared in the mirror as she warned, "You know you're never getting laid again, right?"

"It's a term of endearment!"

"You're never getting laid again," Jensen confirmed. "Go find some anagram hooker or something. We're done."

"But, Jen..."

"I've got something for you to do," Jensen cut in quickly and unexpectedly. "New challenge: the person who can stay quiet the longest gets a point, starting now."

"That's-"

"Ha!" Jensen flashed him the same grin as Jared imagined a fox would sport when it had chowed down on some helpless woodland creature. It was not without a certain degree of smugness. "What's that? Oh, yeah, 2-1 to me."

"You cheated!"

"How was that cheating?! I just set the challenge; it's not my fault you can't keep your mouth shut."

Sensing the argument could go on for a while, they both looked to Jeannie for a decision but Jared instantly regretted it when she said with a shrug, "Sorry, Jared. I'm going to go with Jensen on this one."

Her hand raked through Jensen's hair and Jared was reminded of Dr Evil and his feline companion. Jensen made a creepily good henchcat.

Before he could argue against this decision, Jeannie waved a metaphorical red flag in front of the over-competitive bulls and said with a knowing smile, "Although I have got another challenge for you..."

**2-1**

"Y'know," Jared pondered aloud, "I feel kind of like Marie Antoinette."

Jensen raised an eyebrow. Or at least Jared thought Jensen raised an eyebrow. It was difficult to tell beneath the platinum blond bangs which now obscured half his face.

"You feel like a French aristocrat. Who was female."

Jared shrugged, peering at himself in a mirror. "Maybe old school David Bowie." He turned back to Jensen. "Someone with epic hair either way. What number are you on?"

"Five."

The answer came from behind them and they turned - _carefully_ \- to see Jeannie enter the hair and make-up trailer with a new box of wigs and a grin. "You up for more?"

Jared held his arms out. "Lay it on me, baby."

Jeannie smiled and passed him a short dark wig to add to the collection that currently resided on his head. Thick dreads formed the base of the Leaning Tower of Hair and layers of spangled pink, curled gray, shaggy brown, and fiery red stacked on top of it to such a height that Jared was struggling to balance the new dark wig on top. However, there were upsides to having uber-long limbs and positioning another wig on one's head in order to win a wig-balancing contest was definitely one of the more overlooked benefits.

"Yes! I got six right here."

He looked over to see Jensen struggling to place his own sixth wig - a shocking blue blob - on top of his pile. Somehow Jensen had got the short end of the wig stick and had first been given a long blond wig complete with Heidi-style braids and impressive bangs. He had tried to cover it with a squishy afro, a mop of auburn curls, a jagged bowl cut, and something that looked like it had been shaved off a hairy cat, but his head was clearly not as wig-friendly as Jared's was and so he was running into difficulties.

Sauntering over, he lifted up Jensen's new bangs and teased, "Hurry up there, Jen. Those milk pails aren't going to carry themselves."

Jensen's attention was more on his hair(s?) but he threw out a half-hearted, "Jackass."

Jared cackled gleefully. "Hey, you still got Dean's lederhosen? They'd look real good with the braids."

The blue bob finally rested in place on top of Jensen's head. "Screw you. You're the one with the creepy lederhosen fetish."

Delving in the box for more wigs, Jeannie snorted with laughter. "You got a thing for gym teachers too, Jared?"

"Yep," Jensen answered for him. "You should hear him moaning about it in his sleep. 'I wish I knew how to dodge you...'"

Unable to punch Jensen on the shoulder for fear of being accused of cheating, he settled for the retort of "You wish." Seeing that the Smurf wig was now nestled atop Jensen's head, he called to Jeannie, "We're both on six. Next!"

"This should separate the men from the..." She paused. "...the other, less wig-skilled men?" With a flourish, she held up two large, bushy monstrosities which made Jared wonder if Phil Spector had been scalped in the recent past.

Jensen groaned. "How am I supposed to fit that on my head?!"

"With skill and dexterity," Jared replied smarmily. To demonstrate his own skill and/or dexterity, he snagged one of the wigs from Jeannie's hands and reached up, patting along the pile until he reached the flat top where he carefully positioned the mass of hair. Now feeling like a human-sized Old English sheepdog, he beamed down at Jensen. "Your turn, dude."

Jensen looked at Jeannie for help as he complained, "But he's got, like, a freakishly large head..."

"That's not all of me that's freakishly large," Jared chimed in, deciding that the moment needed more innuendo.

Jeannie patted him on the arm. "Whatever you say, sweetie." Providing Jared with further proof that he was her favorite, she turned to Jensen and said firmly, "No backing out now. Jared's got a height disadvantage anyway; for him it's like balancing stuff on the Washington Monument and for you it's like balancing stuff on the White House." Both of them started to protest the comparison but she silenced them with the order, "Just do it, Jensen."

Scowling, Jensen took the wig and reached up, eyes vanishing under the Heidi-hair as he squished the pile down and tried to make it balance. Jared felt a pang of defeat when Jensen slowly raised his hands, lips curving up in a triumphant smile. "Yes..."

He looked up at Jared and it was like events happened in slow-motion.

As his head lifted, the Phil Spector wig shifted and Jared could only watch as Jensen's smile faded, a look of panic sliding over his features as the tower on his head started to topple. Like vertical hairy dominoes, the first brought the rest down with it and Jared held back a laugh as a multitude of wigs rained down around them until Jensen was left with a scowl of defeat and a pair of lopsided blond braids.

"No..."

**2-2**

"Hey, Charlie?"

The grip looked up at Jared's question. "What's up?"

From Dean's position by the door of the motel set, Jensen made his request with a smile that Jared knew matched his own, "Pick a word."

Charlie frowned, swiping his hair back off his forehead. "Huh?"

"Pick a word," Jared repeated.

"Any word," Jensen reiterated.

"Any word at all," Jared elaborated. "Like, say, 'Stanford'."

Jensen glared at him. "Cheater."

"It was just a suggestion..."

"Well, I'm _suggesting_ 'Impala'. Or 'pie'. 'Pie' is an excellent word."

"Know what? 'Dean' is even more excellent. It's excellenter."

"'Excellenter' is not a word." Jensen's smile got wider and more Cheshire-like. "'Sam' is though. You should choose 'Sam', Charlie."

Charlie looked baffled. Jared felt a little sorry for him. "Why am I picking a word?"

"We can't tell you," he said contritely. "Not yet." The crew behind them started to quiet down and Jared prompted quickly, "Please just pick one. Please?"

There were calls from the director behind them and Jared edged back into Sam's seat at the table, listening eagerly for the answer.

"Umm..." Charlie shrugged. "Unicorn?"

Jared snorted and Jensen looked at him in disbelief. "Unicorn? Really?"

The tall, butch, tattooed grip shrugged. "I like unicorns."

Not wanting his co-star to get punched in the face by an irate, unicorn-loving grip, Jared cut in, "Thanks, Charlie. That's great."

Charlie shifted backwards and Jared caught Jensen's murmur of "Fuckin' unicorns" before the week's guest director, Mark, managed to reassert his authority.

"Action!"

The motel door slammed shut behind Dean and Sam looked up from his laptop at the rustle of the paper bag as Dean dumped the supplies on the bed. "You get everything?"

Dumping himself on the bed too, Dean shrugged and reached for the bag. "Pretty much. I couldn't exactly break into a church in the middle of Sunday service so I had to replace the communion wafers with taco shells but otherwise we're good to go." He delved in the bag, tossing a candy into his mouth before speaking around the caramel, "Oh, yeah; they were all out of Spongebob so we've got a unicorn altar this time."

Sam coughed into his fist. "Unicorn?"

"Yep." He snagged another piece of candy, chewing noisily before pushing the bag onto the floor. "Guess Bob's Shop-o-rama overestimated the demand for unicorn tablecloths. They're lucky they've got guys like us to take it off their hands and use it for tracking evil things." Sam opened his mouth, apparently ready to protest further but he was cut off when Dean asked, "So what d'you find? Any leads on what we're gonna pull out of the demonic lucky dip?"

Shaking his head, Sam glanced at his notes. "Not really. Whatever this is, it's got a specific ritual. Really, really specific. I've been looking through local legends but I can't find anything that preys on people born on the thirtieth day of the month, people with mohawks, and goldfish. It doesn't make sense."

"Did you at least rule anything out? Taking out goldfish seems pretty low-key for a demon. It's right up there with the destruction of marshmallows or a plague of unicorns."

"I don't know what else it would be if not a demon," Sam admitted. "There haven't been any deaths involving more than two of the target groups so vengeful spirits are probably out. It could be another seal-"

"A seal?" Dean laughed in disbelief. "Dude, if Lilith frees Lucifer because the angels couldn't save a bunch of goldfish, that's going to be the crappiest Armageddon ever."

"It could be a seal," Sam repeated, ignoring the interruption, "but I can't exactly call up the angels and ask them, can I?"

Dean chuckled. "Angel radio screening your calls, Sammy?"

Sam glared. "You're the one with the all-access pass. You ask them."

"I wouldn't call it an all-access pass," he countered sheepishly. "They do their thing and I get a memo occasionally when they need me to do something. I'm like the secretary." He grinned. "The hot secretary everyone wants to hook-up with."

Sam raised his eyebrows with a smirk. "The angels want to hook up with you?"

Rethinking his comparison, Dean wrinkled his nose. "Shut up. So you've got no idea who's doing this?"

"Sorry, Dean. There are some signs of witchcraft, like hex bags and scorch marks in the shape of unicorns, but nothing concrete. It could just be Lilith being experimental."

"Experimental?" Dean sighed. "Why couldn't she just experiment with sex, drugs and rock and roll like normal people instead of drawing pretty unicorn pictures with fire?"

Sam bit back a smile. "You think Lilith's unicorn pictures look pretty?"

"No, dude, I was joking. Remember that? Joking? I don't think unicorn pictures look pretty."

"Are unicorns even real?"

"No, of course they're not real," Dean scoffed before rephrasing with the stress on the first word. Just in case Sam had missed the point. " _Unicorns_ are not real."

Sam nodded. "So we can rule out unicorns then?"

"Rule out unicorns from what?"

"Our list of possible suspects." He flipped to a new page of his notebook and concentrated hard on writing down the information. "Unicorns are not responsible for the birthday, mohawk and goldfish deaths."

On the bed, Dean smirked and slipped into a Bill Clinton accent. "Nope. Unicorns did not have any relation to those deaths."

"Because that would be so unlike the unicorns," Sam said, barely able to hold back a smile. "If they existed, that is."

"Exactly!" Dean nodded vehemently. "The unicorns are a-" He paused to try to hide his grin. "They're a peace-loving race."

"You know, there's a local legend that 'We Are the World" was inspired by the song of the unicorns."

Dean snorted but, to Sam's amazement, held it together when he replied, "That's fascinating, Sam. I never knew that about unicorns."

"Unicorns also founded Woodstock," he informed him, grinning when he saw Dean's shoulders shaking with barely restrained laughter.

"The unicorns really got around, huh?"

"They're still here," Sam said earnestly. "Local legend also says that Bono is a unicorn in disguise-"

He didn't manage to finish the sentence before Dean dissolved into laughter, burying his head between his knees and giving up all pretence of sincerity.

"Cut?"

The confused shout of the director only made Jensen laugh harder and Jared nearly joined him when Mark asked with a baffled smile, "Uh, guys? Did you get a different draft of the script or something?"

Seeing that words were currently beyond Jensen's capability, Jared looked apologetic as he said, "Sorry, man. Sorry. We were just..." He realized there was no sane way to explain that they were trying to out-unicorn the other while remaining in character, and changed tack with a hopeful grin, "Take two?"

Mark nodded, perplexed, and yelled to the equally amused crew, "Set up for take two!"

Jensen's head lifted from his knees and Jared saw him nearly crack up again when he caught his eyes. Flushed with success, he teased, "You good, Jen?"

Still trembling with the after-giggles, Jensen wiped his eyes and mumbled into Dean's sleeve, "Fuckin' unicorns." ****

**2-3**

  
"This is so not fair."

"Yes, it is," Jared stated. "It's very fair. George came up with this all on his own; I had nothing to do with it."

Jensen stared at him with suspicion. "You must've had something to do with it. You did some kind of psychic projection and told him to pick something you could do."

"Dude, if I could convince people to do stuff with the power of my mind-" He cackled in a very supervillainy way. "-I wouldn't be using them to rig a competition. You'd be bare-assed in my trailer wearing nothing but the Heidi hair if I had my way."

"You'd mind-control me into sex with you? Gee, Jared, be creepier."

"Not against your will or anything." He gave a one-armed shrug, sidling closer to rest his hands on Jensen's hips. "I'd just, y'know, make it clear than I enjoy you being naked on a regular basis." His eyes went wide as an idea occurred. "Maybe I could mind-control the whole world and outlaw clothes!" His eyes went squinty again as the downside occurred too. "Oh, but then I'd have to see other people naked. Like Chad. I don't ever wanna see Chad naked again after what happened last time."

Jensen tilted his head to the side. "You never told me what did happen last time."

"And I never will," Jared said with confidence before planting a quick kiss on Jensen's lips in the hopes of distracting himself from the thoughts of naked Chad which were currently cavorting around in his brain.

The quick kiss wasn't as quick as they'd intended but just when Jared was getting to the pleasurable stage where he couldn't work out where he ended and Jensen began, George cleared his throat loudly behind them. Sheepishly, they broke apart and were met with the complaint, "Guys, c'mon. Could you not wait till you were out of costume as least?"

Jared grinned and reached down to grope Jensen's ass in an obvious, purposeful, and frankly enjoyable way. "Hey, this wouldn't be Supernatural if there wasn't a little incest before lunch." He moved in again, hands roaming freely over the Deanified Jensen and murmured as seductively as he could, "Isn't that right, Dean?"

Apparently he needed to work on his seductive voice since George turned away with a grimace and Jensen just laughed in his face. (Jensen's breath still smelt of coffee and Jared reminded himself that they needed to have words about a healthy caffeine intake.)

Coffee breath evidently didn't faze Jensen who reiterated, "So _so_ creepy."

Jared was indignant. "Okay, yeah, the 'I can molest you with my mind' thing was creepy but if you weren't sucking up to George, you'd totally have gone with the incest. We do it to Kripke all the time."

"Yeah, but Kripke's creepier than both of us combined," Jensen pointed out accurately.

However, he didn't deny the allegation of sucking up to the man who'd set them their latest challenge and Jared turned to the set designer with a smile. "Ready when you are, G."

"No," Jensen cut in, glaring at them both. "Not 'ready when you are'. This is cheating. It's... heightist."

"'Heightist' isn't a word, Jen."

"You're discriminating against me because I'm shorter than you. It's heightist!"

George and Jared shared glances and Jensen sighed. "You know, in the real world, I'm tall. I go hang out with Danneel and I'm a respectable height but then I have to spend nine months of the year looking like Bigfoot's midget sidekick. It blows."

"Sucks to be you," Jared replied without sympathy and Jensen flipped him off.

Seeing an opening, George stepped in as the voice of reason. "It's fair, guys. You asked me to pick a challenge and this is it."

Jared smirked at his partner. "Told you so. Who knows, maybe someone else'll pick a challenge where bow-legs are an advantage."

"I hate you both."

George rolled his eyes. "Drama queens, the pair of you. Here." He pulled two staple-guns from his Batman-esque utility belt and passed one to each of them. "Three shots each. Whoever gets a staple highest on the wall wins."

Jared gestured to the wall with a flourish. "Ladies first."

Jensen threw a "Fuck you" in his direction but nonetheless prepared his staple-gun for the epic battle that was about to commence. In Jared's opinion, it was kind of like _300_ but with less body oil. Taking a short run up, Jensen leapt up as high as he could and slammed the staple gun against the wall, leaving a small silver imprint as a sign of his progress.

Still sulking over the unfairness of life, he stepped back and Jared prepared to put him to shame, aware of the growing cluster of observers around them.

George prompted, "Jared, you're up," and he sprang forward with what he considered to be the majesty and splendor of a gazelle, stretching up to land the staple high, high above Jensen's.

At least that was the plan.

It was somewhat anticlimatic when he stepped back to see the crumpled staple fall out of the wall and bounce off the floor by his feet as George announced loudly, "No score for Padalecki! Ackles leads going into the second round."

Jared's mouth fell open. "But I- That-"

Jensen sashayed past him, repeated his earlier moves, beat his earlier mark and then sashayed back.  
  
Jensen was an asshole.

"Ackles improves on his mark!" George proclaimed to a smattering of applause from the gathered set designers and prop department. "Padalecki is yet to score."

Pointedly ignoring the smugness radiating from Jensen, Jared readied his staple-gun for the second round, muttering under his breath, "I'll show you 'yet to score'."

Taking a longer run-up, he sprinted to the wall, gun poised to lay a stapley smackdown to his boyfriend. Unfortunately, he misjudged the width of his own torso and bodychecked the wall before the gun could even get close to target, stumbling backwards and rubbing his chest in pain. "Ow..."

To add insult to injury, there was George. "Still no score! Goes to show you, folks; bigger does not always mean better."

There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd and Jared started to hate the set designers with a vengeance. Damn them and their tricky staple-guns.

Jensen of course did not share this hatred and teased, "Looks like you could use some work on your technique there, Paddy."

"Haven't hear you complaining about my technique before," he shot back under his breath, pleased to see a shiver run down Jensen's spine at the memory of just how awesome Jared's technique was. Sadly, dirty thoughts were not enough to deter him from his goal and, figuring that if it wasn't broke, he wasn't going to fix it, Jensen went through the same motions to beat his first two staples by another two inches.

He then did a celebratory dance that Jared found half annoying, half adorable.

"Ackles lands a higher mark! Padalecki still on zero," George declared, just in case Jared had forgotten how much he sucked.

He hadn't and reminded, "I've got one turn left, G!"

"We won't hold our breath," Jensen snarked.

Poking his tongue out at him, Jared prepared to run up to the wall again before inspiration struck. A smile spread across his face and he walked up to the wall instead, reaching up and standing up on his tiptoes to calmly place the staple-gun against the wall and punch his mark in.

Nearly four inches above Jensen's.

"With a shocking last minute comeback, Padalecki wins!" George yelled and the small crowd burst into spontaneous applause. Seeing the dumbstruck look on Jensen's face, Jared took a bow and basked in the praise that kept coming from the taskmaster. "Padalecki now has doubled Ackles' overall score, ladies and gentlemen. He came from behind and is now dominating the competition!"

Leaning in close to Jensen, Jared whispered darkly, "Sounds like what happened last night..."

Jensen's frown would not budge even with smutty comments and he muttered, "You're not getting a repeat for a while, dude."

**2-4**

Jared knew he shouldn't find beat-up Dean Winchester so attractive.

He understood that beat-up Dean Winchester wasn't supposed to be entirely unattractive - the producers knew where their audience's interests lay after all - but considering that he was living and sleeping with Dean Winchester's alter ego, he didn't think it was appropriate to be getting turned on by the smattering of fake bruises on Jensen's jaw and temple. After all, he didn't want Jensen abandoning his acting career in favor of getting beat up for a living as a professional boxer (or in some other, less wholesome career that Jared was not thinking about.)

Sitting in the make-up chair while Sam Winchester received his own set of bruises, he watched in the mirror as Jensen joked quietly with Shannon and looked generally rugged and handsome. As much as he adored his domestic, nerdy Jensen who wore sweater-vests, had opinions on upholstery, and would occasionally purr in his sleep if stroked the right way, the tough, grungy look worked _very_ well on him.

Jared sighed. He needed to take Jensen mud-wrestling. Soon.

Now lost in happy thoughts of tackling a muddy Jensen who would ideally be sans clothing, Jared reached absently for the three boxes of lunch that sat in front of him and started to dig in, fixated on Jensen rather than the food.

He was therefore taken aback when a new and unexpected shape plonked itself in the chair next to his, obscuring his much appreciated view.

"Good afternoon."

Any annoyance was swiftly replaced by glee when he saw the man who was next to him and he spoke through a mouthful of - he looked at the box to verify - chicken, "It's Misha Day!"

The actual sounds were closer to "Ts Meeshaddy!" but interpreting the Padalecki-chicken dialect was evidently one of Misha's many, _many_ skills since he replied seriously, "Every day is Misha day."

Misha took a long slurp of coffee and Jared was filled with irrational jealousy at the fact that Misha's 'Oh God, I need caffeine' moment came nearly seven hours after his own. From the look Jensen gave him, this jealousy was a shared phenomenon and he commented sadly, "Please tell me you haven't just woken up in the last thirty minutes."

"I haven't just woken up in the last thirty minutes," Misha obliged before checking his watch. "My alarm went off at 11 and that was almost an hour and a half ago."

The polystyrene cup in Jensen's hand was crushed into little flaky pieces by the Fist of Sleep-Deprived Rage.  
  
(Part of the reason their relationship worked so well was that Jared always woke up before Jensen and so was never on the receiving end of Jensen's wrath at the unfairness that someone got to stay in bed longer than he did.)

Sensing that his life was in danger, Misha offered a tentative olive branch to Jensen. "But I slept really badly and you're far more well rested than I am."

"Hmmph." Jensen twitched his nose and took a large bite of his lunch burrito.

Jared took that as a good sign and changed the subject. "You here all day, Misha?"

"Nope. From what I understand from the shooting schedule, Castiel will be staring deeply at you until about five." He sipped at his coffee and risked the anger of Jensen as he said, "I'll be out of here in time to watch Gossip Girl."

Fortunately, Jensen was amused enough to ask, "Gossip Girl? Seriously?"

Misha nodded. "It provides an interesting commentary on the relationships and priorities of a social set I've never thought much about before. It's a very enlightening show."

Jared let his head fall back as he laughed aloud and had it pushed back up to vertical by Shannon who moved over to touch up his wounds. Glancing over at Misha, he wondered, "I know I ask you this almost every day but are you high, dude?"

Misha gave him a beatific smile. "Just high on life."

"And Gossip Girl?" Jensen added.

"And Gossip Girl," Misha agreed. "And sometimes One Tree Hill."

Chuckling, Jensen lobbed a wrapped candy over Misha to Jared as he said, "Hey, Jared, tell Chad he's got a fan."

"Chad Michael Murray is a very accomplished thespian," Misha said calmly. "I respect his character choices."

"Misha, how are you a real person?" Jared asked with genuine curiosity. "Seriously, dude, it's like you were programmed at birth or something." Seeing Jensen and recalling a certain TV show, he put on a deep voice and announced, "They designed him to be the perfect everything..."

He was silenced by another candy to the head from Jensen who groaned, "Can you _not_ , dude?"

"Hey, Misha might be a genetically engineered supersoldier for all we know," Jared defended before teasing, "We know you aren't, Jen. No-one would intentionally design someone who sucked as much as you do today."

Misha looked between them, clearly not wanting to know the answer but asking anyway, "Have I missed some public indecency this morning? 'Cause this is what trailers were invented for, guys."

Laughing, Jared shook his head. "Nope. No public sucking. Well, yeah, public sucking in that Jensen has sucked epically in front of the whole crew, but it was sucking in the 'failing' sense rather than the, uh, other sense." Waving away the confusion, he said with a grin, "We're having a mini-Olympic thing today and I'm currently kicking his ass at it."

"Mini-Olympics?" Misha looked concerned. "They're letting you near javelins?"

"No, no. Not that kind of Olympics. People set us challenges, we do them, and I beat Jensen in every single one. It's working well so far."

"Hey, I beat you in two," Jensen complained. "And it's only lunch time."

"So these challenges," Misha inquired, "who comes up with them?"

Jared shrugged. "Whoever." A thought occurred and he sat up, smacking his face into Shannon's hand as he did so and then cupping his cheek in pain while he exclaimed, "You should make up one!"

Misha weighed it up for a moment before deciding, "I can do that."

Jared expected another moment of deliberation while he tried to work out what challenge to set, but Misha was on his feet in seconds and ready to go, either proving that he was in fact a robot-mutant hybrid or indicating that he'd given some prior thought to the matter of which contest he would set his co-stars if the opportunity arose. Either way, it was weird.

"Your challenge is to fit as many Twizzlers in your mouth as possible."

There was an underwhelmed silence in the make-up trailer.

It was broken by Jared. "Gotta say, I was expecting something more highbrow." He grinned at Misha. "I thought you'd be getting us to rewrite War and Peace in Swahili or perform the entire Ring Cycle on a homemade flute or something."

"The simplest things are often the most entertaining," Misha intoned. "It's like watching monkeys play with bongo drums."

Both of them raised their eyebrows at him. Misha ignored them both - their stares were nothing compared to what Misha must see whenever he looked in the mirror - and wiggled the box of Twizzlers at them. "Get to it, people."

Getting up from his chair, Jensen looked miserable. "Why does everyone always choose challenges that Jared can do so much more easily than I can? I mean, he's got a giant head, he's eight feet tall, his mouth is in proportion... It's not fair."

"I have no bias," Misha declared. "I just think it would be amusing to watch. If it helps, you don't need to put the whole thing in your mouths; they can stick out if you think you can fit more in that way. Like yokels with straw."

Jensen looked at Jared and said with good-natured bemusement, "Why am I not as offended as I should be?"

Shrugging, Jared gave the all-purpose answer, "Because it's Misha."

"Start whenever you're ready," Misha decreed, depositing the box of Twizzlers on the table and taking a seat. "I need some popcorn."

Fifteen minutes later, Misha had found himself some popcorn. A large number of other people had also found the current round of the competition and were now watching with intermittent sniggers and cheers while Jared and Jensen packed their mouths full of Twizzlers.

Wedging his eighteenth Twizzler into an available space, Jared caught Jensen's eye and nearly coughed up the mass of candy at the sight of Jensen's nostrils flaring as he tried to breathe more easily and the drool that was slipping down his chin from his open mouth.

Jared knew he probably looked equally ridiculous but stuff was always funnier when it happened to Jensen.

His efforts not to laugh were not helped when Misha contemplated aloud, "I feel like Jeff Probst right now."

Jared tried to ask if he'd missed some Survivor episode that involved stuffing the participants like a Thanksgiving turkey but it came out as garbled noise, leaving Misha's Probstness unchallenged.

"Jensen's on nineteen, Jared's on eighteen. You need to fit another one in, Jared, or you forfeit."

Making a noise of protest, Jared pushed another one into his mouth, annoyed that Jensen had got ahead while he wasn't looking. Wanting to regain the lead, he stuffed in three more in quick succession before looking up with what passed for a proud smile.

The proud smile vanished when Misha said apologetically, "Jared has twenty-two but Jensen moves further into the lead with twenty-four."

"Mmmph!" Jared protested.

Jensen wiggled his eyebrows at him and added two more.

Jared tried to concentrate and continue. He tried really, really hard, but seeing Jensen's lips surrounding a thick red length made his mind leap to a certain place. A non-candy-oriented place.

Doing his best to ignore him, Jared picked up another Twizzler and started to ease it into his mouth, feeling like he was about to unhinge his jaw in the process. It was almost in and nearly squashed up with its sticky red brethren when Jensen played his ace.

"Mmmm..."

In case Jared missed it, Misha commentated, "Jensen is now making overtly sexual noises in order to distract his opponent."

"Mmm-hmm..."

"Jensen is moaning like a porn star here with twenty-six Twizzlers in his mouth. Jared is a less-skilled porn star and can only hold twenty-two."

Jensen moaned again, winked at Jared, and Jared was done.

Coughing and spluttering, he ducked down to the trash can, spitting out the loose Twizzlers and pulling out any persistent ones that were stuck in his mouth. Unable to stop himself from smiling even when Misha called, "Jared admits defeat! Victory is Jensen's!", he loved the triumphant expression on Jensen's Twizzlered face and patted him amicably on the back.

"Nice job, dude."

"Ah mmahn."

Jared leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, "Never knew your mouth could stretch that wide, Jen. I've got all sorts of ideas now..."

His grin widened when Jensen flushed and made his own dash for the trashcan.

**3-4**

"I want Genevieve."

"What?" Standing at the start of their latest challenge, an assault course to be completed blindfolded, Jared folded his arms. "No way, dude. Genevieve is mine." Not trusting Jensen not to steal his co-star, he enfolded the slightly bewildered Genevieve in a bear-hug and reiterated, caveman-style, "Gen. Mine."

Jensen argued childishly, "But you get her all the time. You got to make out with her a couple of weeks ago. You need to share, dude."

Jared growled and pulled Genevieve closer, speaking over her laughter, "Nope. No sharing. She's mine for this round and if you want to make out with her, you two can discuss it in private."

"But-"

"No buts." He moonwalked closer to the start line, tugging Genevieve with him. "Ruby's all mine. You can have Cas."

Groaning melodramatically, Jensen let his shoulders slump as he turned back to his partner for this race. Jared sympathized; as awesome as Misha was, he was likely to give directions more in terms of "Follow the path of the wind" and "Move closer to Russia" rather than the "Turn left, turn right" commands that were needed for success. Although she was unable to build all the furniture in her house, Genevieve was more likely to lead him to a blindfolded victory.

Seeing Jensen and Misha talking among themselves, he released Genevieve and play-threatened, "You better be damn good at this now."

Genevieve held up her hands. "Hey, you're the one who wanted me so badly. It's not like I spend my free time guiding the blind around obstacle courses or anything."

Jared gasped in fake shock. "You mean you haven't done this before? You lied to me?! I want a refund!"

"Ha ha," she retorted sarcastically, lips quirking up in a smile. "Turn around, Sammy."

Obeying, Jared crouched down to let her tie the blindfold over his eyes and voiced the thoughts that had sprung up at the mention of his character name, "Y'know, Kripke should totally end the season this way."

He couldn't see Genevieve's face but he predicted that she was wearing her 'Are you stoned?' expression. That look came out a lot when she was around him. And Jensen. And especially Misha.

"No but really, it's a great idea," he enthused. "Jensen's got his angel buddy guiding him. I've got my demon mistress person. It practically writes itself."

"You want Sam and Dean to resolve the conflict between Heaven and Hell by having a blindfolded race around set?"

When she put it like that...

"Yes? Oh, and you know how the crew are betting on whether it's gonna be me or Jensen who wins? They could definitely do that with Sam and Dean. That way the show can make a ton of money and have more audience involvement. Like American Idol but with more apocalypses. Ooh, maybe Simon can come play Lucifer; I always figured the Devil would be British..."

"Jared?"

"Yep?"

"Stop talking."

"But I-"

"No, really. Stop talking and go!"

Too late, Jared realized that there was already a steady chant from the sidelines of "Jensen! Jensen!" mixed in with boos for his lack of movement so far. Out of instinct, he ran forward before remembering he couldn't see and yelling back to Genevieve, "Where do I go?"

The instruction of "Left!" came back to him, and he turned, arms waving as he staggered forward, getting about three paces before smacking his shin hard against the leg of a chair.

"Ow! Fuck!"

"Now go right!"

"Yeah, I got that," he muttered, clutching his bruised shin while hobbling in what he hoped was the right direction as the orders came thick and fast.

"Right a little more, a little more... Now duck!"

Sound apparently did not travel as fast as Genevieve thought it did and Jared bashed his head against something painful and metal. Feeling like a human tuning fork, he tried to stop his limbs vibrating and ducked under the obstacle, listening for Genevieve's voice above the cheers of the prop department who had arranged the course for them.

"Go to your left, Jared. Left!"

He did and hit a table.

"Your other left!"

He did and hit a beanbag chair.

Pulling himself back to his feet, he sighed inwardly when Genevieve tried again, "Uh, just go forward. Slowly."

Comforting himself with the knowledge that Misha had probably guided Jensen into the middle of a random field of cows in order to commune with nature, he kept following her directions, making slow but steady progress and, crucially, not breaking any more limbs than he had already.

"Now kind of, um, step through the tires. Like you're walking in syrup or something."

Happy that Genevieve shared his passion for obscure similes, he picked up his feet and cautiously stepped through what could have been a tire.

"Nice job, Jared! Now do it again."

Gaining in confidence, he repeated the motion and started to pick up the pace. Just as he was convinced that he had made tires his bitch, they struck back and Jared found himself flat on his back with a sore ankle and very little knowledge of how he got there.

Concern (and a little guilt) was audible in Genevieve's shout. "Shit... Jared, you okay?"

"Yeah." He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled on. "I'm good, I'm good."

"You can take off your blindfold now," she called.

Ripping it off his head, he looked back at her and asked brightly, "I won?"

Hand on her hip and a smirk on her lips, Genevieve shook her head and pointed behind him, prompting Jared to turn to see Jensen and Misha standing at the finish line with matching grins.

Strolling over, Jensen gave him a nudge of commiseration. "Sorry, dude. You should've let me have Genevieve."

Jared did not comprehend his logic and said as much. "What?"

Jensen nodded to where Genevieve was walking over to them. Across the ground that was entirely free of tires.

He frowned at the concrete, expecting the tires he had just pwned to magically reappear. When they didn't, he looked up at Genevieve in confusion. "But there were-"

"There were never any tires," Misha said solemnly. "You were high-stepping through thin air and then fell over your own boots."

Astounded, he spun back round to face Genevieve and repeated his earlier accusation, this time with sincerity, "You lied to me?!"

"Sorry, Jared." She shrugged helplessly. "I already put my money on Jensen."

Offended that the entire cast was now conspiring against him (and conveniently forgetting his previously cocky attitude), he stomped off to the next scene with what he knew would be short-lived annoyance.

However, he did not miss the writer sitting on the sidelines taking notes for the season finale.  
  
Jared's ideas were so underappreciated.

**4-4**

"This is it, ladies and gentlemen. The challenge to end all challenges. The final test of courage, strength and determination."

Jared smiled to himself at the description. Since Misha had gone home for the day, George had resumed the role of commentator and had taken to his new position with gusto.

"In the blue corner, now on a winning streak after a series of earlier defeats, we have everybody's favorite bow-legged Texan, Jensen Ackles!"

From his own corner of the parking lot, he watched Jensen strut out, hands raised and milking the applause for all it was worth before taking his place at the start line.

"And in the red corner, hoping to regain the success that made him such a crowd favorite, we have San Antonio's very own Sasquatch, Jared Padalecki!"

Deciding that his applause was louder than Jensen's, Jared bounded out, flexing his muscles for the crew and shaking his ass a little for good measure.

"This is their most challenging contest to date," George proclaimed loudly. "On my shout, both of our fine athletes will mount their vehicles and set off on my second shout. The one who gets furthest will be declared the winner of the entire competition. Place your bets now, folks! Ackles and Padalecki, you may mount your vehicles."

Jared had to hand it to George: he made the event sound a lot grander than it was. Mounting his vehicle as instructed, he only realized how insane the final contest was when he looked over at Jensen to see that he too was in a parking lot on a cold Vancouver evening wearing a ski mask and sitting on an office chair that had a fire extinguisher duct-taped under the seat.

Jensen had the same thought and called across to him, "This is fucking insane, you know that, right?"

Jared agreed, thoroughly entertained but also bemused. "How did we get from coffee beans to this?"

"Because you're an ultra-competitive freak," Jensen answered simply.

Jared couldn't fault that logic.

"Competitors, is your safety gear on?" George asked.

They both nodded. Since none of the producers or make-up artists had wanted them scratched up in reality, they had agreed to wear knee and elbow pads as well as ski masks to hopefully prevent their faces getting bloodied if they came into too close contact with the concrete.

"If I could have my glamorous assistant...?"

Jared grinned behind his woolen mask when Genevieve took her place in front of them, still dressed in Ruby's clothes and holding a large checkered flag in her hands as she asked, "Why do I feel like I should be wearing really short shorts right now?"

Meeting her eyes, Jared deadpanned, "Misha did."

Rolling her eyes, she laughed briefly but turned her attention back to the race when George began his countdown, "Competitors can launch their vehicles in 5... 4..."

Jared glanced over at Jensen.

"3..."

Jensen winked at him.

"2..."

He looked ahead.

"1..."

He closed his hand around the handle of the fire extinguisher.

"GO!"

Genevieve dropped the flag, and Jared took a deep breath and squeezed.

He wasn't completely sure what happened next. He did know that the experience was as close as he'd ever come to being blasted through the air by a rocket but all he could remember was the surroundings blurring past him and gripping onto the chair for deep life while a high-pitched yell - probably his own - pierced the air.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the trip didn't last long. His unstable rocket-chair caught an uneven section of the parking lot and capsized, sending him rolling across the gravel, still laughing even after his body came to a stop. Staring up at the night sky, he heard shouting behind him and looked up to see that Jensen was also sprawled on the ground eight feet behind him.

It took him a second to process it but he finally worked out the important part of his surroundings.

Jensen was eight feet _behind_ him.

"Fuck yeah!"

Imbued with new energy, he leapt to his feet and punched the air in triumph. "Champion! Yes!"

There was applause from the start line, which now seemed very far away, and after discarding his mask, he jogged over to Jensen, putting on his best Ace Ventura impression (if there was such a thing) as he teased, "Loo-oo-se-er."

Despite his narrowed eyes, Jensen took the offered hand and let Jared haul him to his feet before he punched him on the arm with the insult, "Fucker."

Jared's joy could not be dampened and he pulled Jensen into a headlock, tugging off the ski mask and ruffling his hair with the taunt, "Don't be jealous, baby. The best man won."

Genevieve's heels clicked on the concrete as she walked over, looking them up and down and asking in confirmation, "You two okay?"

Wrestling free from Jared's grip, Jensen answered for them both, "We're fine."

Genevieve turned and yelled with more volume than Jared even knew she was capable of, "They're good! Jared won!"

Approximately half of the crew whooped and hollered loudly.

The other half groaned equally loudly and reached for their wallets.

**4-5**

"That was pretty awesome."

Clicking off the lamp, Jared heard the quiet thunk of Jensen's glasses against the wood of the bedside table before Jensen settled against his body and asked teasingly, "Would you be saying the same if you hadn't won?"

Jared thought about this for all of a second. "Probably not. Which is why I'm glad that you lost instead of me, seeing as how you're all older and wiser."

"'Older and wiser'?" Jensen harrumphed. "I oughta kick your ass."

Jared kissed his forehead as a peace offering and said confidently, "But you won't."

"But I won't," Jensen agreed, yawning against his chest. "It was kinda awesome." Pre-empting Jared's question, he assured, "I don't want to do it again any time in the near future, but it was a fun way to spend the day."

"Mmmh." Carding his fingers through Jensen's hair, he stared at the ceiling as he murmured absently, "I can't believe you bribed Genevieve."

"I can't believe I had to compete with you in something to do with height."

"I can't believe I said 'unicorns' so many times in one day."

"I can't believe your head holds seven wigs. Freak."

Jared smirked, fingers now tracing Jensen's arm. "I can't believe Misha."

"You can't believe Misha what?"

"Anything. Everything. I can't believe in Misha, period."

"He is kind of like Santa Claus."

"Or the Easter Bunny."

"Or the tooth fairy."

Chuckling, Jared kissed him again and smiled when Jensen hummed happily. "So we're agreed that Misha Collins is fictional?"

"Absolutely."

More kisses, slow and lazy, before he asked innocently, "You know what else I can't believe?"

"What?"

"That you can fit twenty-six fucking Twizzlers in your mouth."

Jensen's laugh was low and dirty. "I have undiscovered talents, dude."

"Y'know," Jared began suggestively, "if you were to put those talents to a more practical use, we could probably call today a tie."

Jensen's eyes glinted mischievously in the semi-darkness as he propped himself up on his elbow. "Oh, really?"

"Really."

He puffed out a breath when Jensen rolled over on top of him but laughed at the feel of kisses on his chest as Jensen started to shift downwards, murmuring between kisses, "It's on, bitch."

Linking his hands behind his head, Jared sighed happily as Jensen disappeared under the comforter to continue his path of kisses down Jared's body.

This was way better than winning.   


**5-5**


End file.
